


From the Archives

by sad_ghost_kid



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Blood, Concussions, Gen, Identity Reveal, Medical Care, Memory Loss, OFC - Freeform, OMC - Freeform, Parent Child Bonding, Part one of three, blood and injuries, ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 4 pt 2, ch 4 pt 3, even more blood concussions and injuries and memory loss, has a semblance of plot, injuries, long winded scene of danny "coming out" to his parents, panic attacks and graphic first aid, stitches sprains etc, the plot kicks in soon, this idea came to me in a dream, totally random and unknown omc, tw for moderate violence gore and emetophobia, tw for self harm aftermath, will add tags with each update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_ghost_kid/pseuds/sad_ghost_kid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uploads of stories and snippets from my massive document of Danny Phantom stories that I have been working on for the past two years. There's no fun in keeping this all to myself.<br/>Post 4: "I didn’t know what had hit me. Well, that’s actually a lie. I knew what had hit me. It was the ice that I had slipped on. And gravity...I can definitely scratch learning how to ice skate alone and as Phantom off my list of things to do."<br/>Post 4 pt 2: "Oddly enough, my knuckles were raw and bloody, as if I had pummeled someone or something with my fists. More than my other injuries, that really scared me. What had I done?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. #1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so I literally started writing this particular story in April of 2014. So please excuse any awfulness if you find any!

“Danny?” 

I looked up from my half-eaten dinner, too tired to shift enough to look at Mom full on. 

“Your father and I have been wanting to discuss something with you.” She sounded normal and happy and there was nothing in her tone to suggest that I was in trouble, but I couldn’t help the pang of fear those words sent through me. And a glance at Dad didn’t help either--he was just smiling nicely too. I sat up straighter; something was up. “I know you’d rather go straight to bed after dinner but would you mind sparing an hour or so to talk?” 

Okay, something was going on here. For one, Mom was citing how tired I looked (never mind that there was no hiding the dark circles under my eyes) and two, she only sounded that nice about parental discussions when it was _really_ something I didn’t want to hear. “Uh, sure thing, Mom.” I put down my fork, pushing away my plate slightly. There was no way I’d be able to keep eating after getting told that I was probably about to get a huge lecture and at least a month of grounding. 

I knew I couldn’t escape, but at least I could go hide out in my room for a few minutes and try to prepare myself. “May I be excused?” I asked, picking up my plate. Mom nodded. As I stood, I told her, “I’ll be in my room. Come knock when you want to talk?” Another nod and I was gone. 

I sat crosslegged, hovering a few inches over my bed (I was much too nervous to sit still, much less sit on something). I was quickly typing out a message on the group text to Sam and Tucker. 

_Mom and Dad want to have a “discussion” tonight. I’m probably about to get grounded again. It was nice knowing you all :(_

I hit send and spun in the air idly, not knowing what to do with myself in the anticipation. I mean, getting in trouble and getting a lecture was nothing new, but the _niceness_ in Mom’s tone had really thrown me off. I wanted to expect the usual sort of “discussion” but they usually went about that in a more grave manner. Something was very off. 

After about five minutes, there was a knock on the door. I dropped down onto the bed before telling them to come in. Both smiling softly, Mom and Dad entered the room. Without a word, Mom sat down beside me on the bed, while Dad took the desk chair. My heart was pounding at roughly a hundred and twelve miles per hour. I wanted to get this over with. 

Usually in these situations it was Mom who broke the news, so I looked at her expectantly, trying to keep at least my expression calm. Oddly, Mom looked nervous, something I rarely saw in her. She was wringing her hands, and a glance at Dad revealed that he didn’t look all that comfortable either. 

“Danny…” Mom started, “Your father and I have been meaning to talk to you about something we… found out some time ago.”

Shit, shit, shit. Did they know? Did they know I was a ghost? Fuck. (Logically I should be wondering if they found out about something school related, or if they discovered that that “camping trip” last month was really just a few nights spend at Sam’s until some really obvious bruises healed…)

I gave Mom an expectant look, glancing at Dad, hoping to find a sooner answer from him. 

Mom put her hand on my shoulder. “We know that you’re Phantom. We’ve known for a few weeks.”

And I was up off the bed in seconds, my back pressed against the window, ready to phase out and get away at any moment. I fully expected them to pull guns on me.

In fear, I blurted, “You won’t dissect me! I won’t let you!!” I had tears in my eyes. 

But Mom and Dad didn’t move. They stayed where they sat, their kind smiles replaced with guilt and worry. 

“Son, we’re not going to hurt you,” Dad said, and he sounded sincere. Yet I couldn’t help glancing at his and Mom’s hands to make sure they were unarmed. Dad’s frown deepened, “And we’re both really sorry about everything we’ve said. We should’ve realized what happened to you right after the accident two years ago.”

“But how did you find out?” I asked, not yet letting down my guard. In retrospect, and all the times I had rehearsed in my head this very scenario, I would have wanted to shoot back disbelief at them (“No way! I’m not a ghost!”) but it was too late for that now.

Mom looked particularly upset, like she really wanted to hug me but she stayed where she sat. “Your father and I were tracking you, Phantom, one night a few weeks ago, and it just so happened that you… transformed… in the alley we had been watching you from. We didn’t quite believe it at first, but from every scrap of research we have on you… well, it just made sense.” She was smiling softly at me now.

I wanted to tell myself that I was overreacting to this, that they were taking it well, as they had in every other alternate timeline instance that they had found out… But this was real. Clockwork wasn’t going to give me a lecture then save my ass after this. I wanted to take their love and acceptance but after two years I really didn’t know what to do with it when it came in such a non-life-threatening situation. I hated that I was reacting like this. I hated that I couldn’t take this acceptance just at face value. What kind of son was I? “Prove to me that I can trust you not to hurt me…” Quietly I added a pleading, “Please…”

Mom stood up from the bed and I tensed. Her soft smile was a sad one now, and she proceeded to empty out the pockets of her blue suit. Their contents were nothing more than a neatly folded piece of paper, some receipts, store-bought chapstick, and her reading glasses. No weapons. She motioned for Dad to do the same, and all that he could manage to produce was a small bit of change. I eased a little bit where I stood at the window, still on guard but not so obviously. 

Dad spoke up first, “Your mother and I anticipated that you’d be wary of our acceptance, son. We realize that with everything we’ve said over the years about Phantom, that you have every reason and right to be afraid, but we want you to know that as our son we love and respect you no matter what.”

Mom added softly, “Above all, Danny, you’re our son, and we love you. That always comes first.”

I managed a smile. There was no animosity at all coming from them, just love and acceptance. I really wanted to just take it and be happy but this wasn’t anything like them finding out something small like a bad grade or suspension. “I uh… can I have a few days to take this all in?” I asked, knowing that I needed some time to sift through everything that had just happened. I’d need to think about it myself, talk to Sam and Tucker, then think some more before I could talk levelly with my parents about this again.

“Of course, sweetie,” smiled Mom; she bent to gather up the things that she and Dad had pulled from their pockets. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about this, we will be too.”

They left shortly after that, closing my bedroom door behind them. The door hadn’t even clicked into the frame yet by the time I had transformed. I phased out through the wall and rocketed into the sky without hesitation. 

~Five Days Later~

While helping Mom clean up after dinner, I had told her that I was ready to talk to her and Dad about “you know what”. She had smiled and nodded. 

I was sitting up in my room now, much like I had been that night last week. I was sitting crosslegged and hovering over the bed, not nearly as nervous as last time, but still a little anxious. When there was a knock and I answered for them to come in, I didn’t drop down onto the bed.

I chuckled slightly at the identical looks of surprise on Mom and Dad’s faces as they came into the room. But this was going to be a serious conversation, so I asked, “I can sit on the bed if you guys want? This is just more comfortable.”

“No, that’s alright, son,” smiled Dad, and I could see the curiosity spark in his eyes. 

Mom and Dad took the same seats as last time, and I drifted to the side a little. 

I was the first one to start the conversation, “So I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I really am willing to be totally open with you both… I just have some basic ground rules I want to establish first.”

“Of course,” said Mom, “We wouldn’t expect any less.”

I nodded. “First of all, no weapons when we’re talking about this stuff. If we’re in the lab, they need to all be put away and out of easy reach, okay?” I received a pair of nods. “Second, no experiments or tests that I am not one hundred percent okay with, and if I don’t want to, I don’t have to answer any questions you may have.”

They both nodded, and Dad said an honest, “We wouldn’t dream of making you do anything you’re not comfortable with, son.”

“Nothing about me or what I am gets published or spoken of to anyone other than the three of us and Jazz--yes she knows too. And I mean _nothing_. I’ve got enough enemies as it is already, and nothing about me would really be useful to the rest of your ghost studies.” I got more nods from that, and I was glad that they were taking this so well. 

“And lastly, no following me out onto patrols or joining me in on ghost fights.” I received some quirked eyebrows from that, and Mom gave me one of those maternal worry frowns, but I held up a hand. “As good as you both are at research and developing weapons, the actual process of fighting is a lot more dangerous than anything I want you guys going near. I’m built to handle this, you’re not.”

I could tell that they wanted to argue the last rule, but they both nodded and accepted it. I couldn’t help but smile. 

“Okay, rules are through. I know you both are itching to ask me stuff so go ahead,” I managed to laugh, and I really wasn’t surprised at all when Mom pulled out a tiny notepad and pen. 

“So this happened from the accident with the portal, right?” asked Dad, and I nodded. 

“Yeah. I went inside and noticed a little too late that there was an ON button, next thing I knew I was waking up with white hair,” I tugged at my black hair for emphasis. 

Mom’s turn, “And you have full command of Phantom even when you’re human?”

“Well,” I rubbed at the back of my neck, “Not quite. My ghost half is separate from my human half, but I do have a cold core in me as Fenton. And I’m not two separate entities either; I have two halves and one just so happens to be a ghost. Both halves of me think with the same mind.” I took a mental note of their reaction to my terminology: Mom was writing notes and Dad was watching me intently. I realised that they still really had no idea of how this all actually worked outside of theory. “Like this I can’t use all my powers, especially the stronger ones, and it took a lot of training even to float as a human. I can access my ghost core without a second thought as Fenton, just like how as Phantom I can access my human half. I’m always me as either human or ghost.”

Mom and Dad just looked bewildered, and I half wanted to ask if they needed any clarification. 

“What abilities _can_ you use as a human?” Mom asked, adding, “If you’re willing to tell us, of course.”

I smiled, feeling relief that they really had taken my wishes to heart. “At this point only the basics. Hovering but not actual flight, invisibility, intangibility, possession, weak to moderate strength ecto-blasts, ice powers. Also my super-strength, but that’s a more recent development.” 

Dad commented, “We noticed a few months ago that you started using ice as a regular power. That does mean you _have_ been developing new abilities as your power levels grow, right?”

“Yeah. Turns out I have an ice elemental core, rather than fire or anything else. I guess I finally got strong enough a while back for the cold to build up enough for me to use it as a weapon.” I formed an ice crystal in my hand and handed it to Mom, “Or, for making last minute gifts.”

Mom laughed before studying the ice intently. “It’s not melting, and it’s not all that cold to the touch,” she noted, and I nodded. 

“Yeah, I think that has to do with it being ghostly and all. Also, my ghost half isn’t nearly as cold to the touch as full ghosts, so it makes sense my ice powers have a higher temperature too.”

Dad was the one to ask the inevitable question, though it came a lot more eloquently than I had expected. “So if you became part ghost because of the blast of charged ectoplasm from the ghost portal, does that mean the same thing happened to Vlad…?” I could see it in my father’s eyes that he really did not want to be told the answer that he already knew.

“Yes. Vlad is also half ghost. He’s actually evil though and will stop at nothing to get what he wants,” my tone was grave, and I only answered aloud because I had Tucker come in regularly with his tech to make sure none of Vlad’s bugs were spying on me or my family. “Which is Dad dead, Mom as his wife, and me as his minion.”

“Who is he as a ghost?” Mom asked, and I could hear the dread.

I sighed. “The Wisconsin Ghost, AKA, Vlad Plasmius.”

Both of my parents cursed in response, and I was sure they didn’t want to hear what I had next to say, but they had to hear it. “He’s done a lot of shit to me since we met at the reunion in Wisconsin a year and a half ago. I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but you need to know what kind of world it is that I face as Phantom. Plasmius has beaten me unconscious on several occasions, given one of my classmates gear to fight me with, freed the ghost king to steal your exoskeleton, infected Sam and Tucker with ecto-acne so I would be motivated to ‘help’ him, the list goes on...” I was counting off on my fingers the various instances, stopping only because it wouldn’t do any good to keep going. 

“Shit,” Dad spat, “it all makes sense now.”

Mom leaned in and hugged me tightly, whispering, “I’m so sorry.” I returned the hug, saying nothing. 

When Mom pulled away from the hug, she glanced at Dad before asking, “Do you want to continue talking? It’s completely up to you.”

I shrugged, “I’d feel bad if I left you on such a bad note as Plasmius. Is there anything not so depressing that you want to talk about?”

Dad smiled and asked, “Would you be willing to transform for us?”

I nodded, “Of course.” I dropped onto the bed then stood up, stepping over to where they both could see me well. No battle-ready stance, just relaxed, I triggered the cold spot centered just behind my heart and let it flood through my veins. As always, the switch dazzled my nerves with the rush of power--power that was clear as my aura came ablaze. 

My parents watched me transform in awe; they hadn’t really ever seen me up close as Phantom, and never in an atmosphere that I was willing to let them get so close. Mom stood up and stepped closer to me. Gently, she put her hand to my forehead, as if she were checking to see if I had a fever. 

“You’re right,” she said. “You really _aren’t_ that cold at all.”

“Nope. According to Sam, I’m a pleasant sixty-two degrees,” I laughed, shifting to sit hovering in the air again. 

Mom sat back down and they were both quiet for a minute. I think seeing me as Phantom in my room, so innocent, was really throwing them off. After all, every time before this that they had come across me in my ghost form there had been at least some level of animosity. The silence was getting a little awkward, so I flipped myself upside-down. 

Dad laughed, “Won’t you get dizzy, son?”

“Nah. From what bit of my own insides I’ve seen, what’s there doesn’t really work, so as far as I can tell, if there’s any fluid in my inner ears, it doesn’t effect anything.”

Mom was a little taken aback, “So you’ve seen your own insides…?”

I shrugged, righting myself, “Mostly just bones, but I _have_ seen my own green lungs once or twice. For reasons I really don’t want you to have in your heads…”

They were getting all sciency now, especially Mom. “So you have bones _and_ internal organs as a ghost. Do you still need to breathe?”

“I only do cause it feels wrong not to. There’s no physical difference if I stop.”

“So what happens when you get hurt from a fight?” asked Dad, “We rarely see you with bruises or other wounds.”

“That’s just cause I don’t usually get hit in the face.” I pulled up my shirt, revealing old and new scars, as well as still fresh cuts and bruises. “I heal a lot faster than a normal human, but some stuff can still take a full week to go away.” Mom looked pretty upset at that, but I held up a hand, “It’s okay, I really don’t mind. Keeping the city safe is more important than a little discomfort.”

“About that,” started Dad, “What about that time with the mayor? And when you stole from that bank?” He paused, as if trying to figure out the best way to word something. “Were you trying your hand at, you know, being the bad guy?”

I scoffed, only to hiccup on my ghost sense. “Shit, I’ve got to go. There’s a ghost nearby.” I untangled myself from my sitting position and checked to make sure the thermos was at my belt. “For the record though, the first one was a set-up, and during the second one I was being controlled. I’ll tell you more later.” Rather quickly, I left.


	2. #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 2: Danny asks a nurse for help with stitches.

"Excuse me?" 

Anne Renning, a nurse at Amity Park General, was startled by a voice near the back of the room she was straightening up (the patient that had previously been in here had gone home). She looked up, gasping when she saw that in fact, no one was there. 

Nurse Anne was sure she had heard someone, a young man by the tone, speak, but she brushed it off as nothing. She continued to replace the used devices and instruments in the room with sterile ones. 

"Um... Nurse?" came the voice again, and Anne couldn't deny that someone was there. 

Swallowing her fear, (she knew that the entirety of Amity Park was haunted, but in the six months she'd lived there she hadn't witnessed anything first-hand) Anne stood straighter and asked, "Who's there?" 

Before there was a reply, Anne noticed a small glowing green puddle on the floor near where the voice had originated from. And as she was staring at that small puddle, a person, standing almost in it, all but materialized. She recognized the black jumpsuit instantly from the news. 

"Danny Phantom?" she asked, incredulous. The town hero was standing in front of her, in the hospital. He had his hand to his side. She noticed instantly that there was more of that green glowing stuff on his hands, arms, and side--it looked like green blood, actually. Was he wounded? 

Phantom looked nervous, standing there in the corner bleeding. He was a lot shorter than she had imagined; and a lot younger (he couldn't be more than a few years older than her niece). "You uh... You are a nurse, right? I mean, you can stitch up wounds...?" 

Anne nodded and smiled, this whole situation striking her as beyond surreal. "Yes, I can stitch wounds. My name is Anne. Would you please sit down on the bed?" 

"Sure..." 

As she turned to the very cabinet she had been restocking, to gather some first aid supplies, Phantom stepped over to the cot and perched himself on the edge. He was still clutching his bleeding side. 

Pulling a small side table to the foot of the bed by where Phantom sat, Anne set up her prepackaged supplies: a curved suture needle, suture thread (the dissolving kind), disinfectant wipes, a numbing agent, gauze, and medical tape. 

"Can you take off your shirt, please, Mr. Phantom?" Anne asked, pulling on a pair of blue latex-free surgical gloves. She opened the package containing the disinfectant. 

Phantom nodded, and to Anne's confusion, moved to grip his shirt front rather than lift it by the hem. The hazmat top became almost transparent before slipping right off, gloves and all. With one hand--the other was still holding his side--he half folded the black and white fabric, placing it on the bed beside him. Nurse Anne frowned when she saw the dark green marks on Phantom's torso--some were faded while others were gruesome and dark. She realized that they were bruises... And under those bruises were countless scars.

"This is all from protecting this city?" Anne asked, taking the alcohol wipe in one hand and gently gripping Phantom's forearm with the other. Carefully, she eased his tense hand away from the surprisingly neat slashes in his side that he had been clutching this whole time. She frowned as she got a closer look at the three clean slices--they ran directly from his front to his back, about eight inches long and an inch at the deepest. As a medical professional, she was glad he had come to the hospital for help, human or not. 

Phantom winced as he pulled his hand away from the cuts. "You mean all the bruises and stuff? Yeah... I usually heal pretty fast, but I know this one isn't going to heal without stitches." He gave a small, nervous laugh, holding up his right hand--the one he had been clutching the gashes with, "Plus, I think my wrist is sprained, so I can't do it myself..."

"Well I'll take a look at all your injuries before you leave, if that's alright?" In truth, she wanted to have him stay at least overnight--with bruises like that, he had to at least have some rib fractures (did he even have bones?).

Phantom nodded, before gasping as she began cleaning away the green blood from his side. 

"Please hold still, dear," Anne advised out of habit. As soon as the area was clean of the green blood, she swabbed the area with anesthetic. It would only take a few minutes to fully numb the area.

"Yeah," came the shaky reply, and she was actually taken aback a bit when she realized just how vulnerable the town hero was at the moment; if she pretended that his blood was red and ignored the faint glow coming from his skin, Phantom would appear as just a normal kid. 

Quietly, Anne began to sew up the three gashes; with a stitch every eighth of an inch, she calculated that each slice would need about sixty-five stitches. This was going to take a while. 

Phantom sat fairly still throughout her ministrations, only gasping or flinching when she got to the end of each slice. He was the most cooperative patient she had ever had for stitches--a thought that worried her--and the process took a lot less time than she had anticipated. After only about forty five minutes, all three cuts were neatly stitched. 

When it was done and she pulled away, Phantom heaved a sigh, wiping away the sweat that had beaded at his brow with the back of his forearm. "Thanks," he smiled, and Anne could see that despite how still he had been, the procedure had really exhausted him. 

"Why don't you lay down for a bit while I clean up and find a compress for your wrist?" Anne urged, standing up. 

With a nod, Phantom eased to lie down, letting out a sigh as he relaxed. 

After cleaning up the used supplies--she still had out the bandaging--and removing her gloves, Anne washed her hands and then looked in one of the cabinets for a wrist compress. She found one quickly, put on fresh gloves, and returned to her patient. 

"Alright, let me see that scratched up arm of yours," Anne said, taking another alcohol wipe. 

Making no move to sit up--he looked quite comfortable, actually--Phantom lifted his right arm. This was the sprained one, she noted, taking hold of it by his elbow rather than wrist. With consistent gentleness, she cleaned away the dried green blood. It began to ooze again so she applied some gauze and secured it with tape. 

Taking a closer look at his wrist, Anne noticed that it was indeed a bit swollen and very much bruised. The best way to see for sure if the wrist was sprained, and how severely, she would need to get an x-ray, but that was probably not something Phantom would consent to. Having treated plenty of sprains in her career, however, Anne recognized the wound for what it was and carefully wrapped it with the compress. 

"Can you move your hand at all?" she asked. If any of the ligaments in his wrist were torn, she would probably have to convince him to come back for surgery. For his sake, she hoped it wasn't that bad.

Phantom flexed his fingers slowly, "A little. It hurts and feels kinda loose..." 

"Well that's not the worst thing then. You probably have a grade two sprain, which will heal on its own if you take care of it. Pretty much, it's fully healed when it doesn't hurt anymore, and your hand is as strong as your unhurt one is."

"Okay. That's good to hear then.... Well, I think that's everything." Phantom began to sit up, taking great care not to rip his stitches. "I should probably get going..."

Nurse Anne put her hand on his shoulder, "Why don't you stay here and rest for a while? I'll keep the door closed so no one will bother you."

"Thank you," he smiled, lying back down. "I can't thank you enough for helping me out." 

Her patients didn't usually show such genuine gratitude as was practically radiating from Phantom. She couldn't help but smile, "You're welcome, Mr. Phantom. For how good of a job you do to keep the city safe, this was the least I could do."

Phantom nodded and smiled before Anne turned away to clean up her supplies one last time. As she went to the door to leave, she turned back to bid Phantom to at least stay and rest for a few hours, but she found that he had disappeared. He had left with no proof of his previous presence other than the slightly rumpled sheets of the bed and the small green puddle on the floor in the corner. 

Shaking her head and sighing, Anne left the room. She'd have to get the janitorial service in here by the end of the evening.


	3. #8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny is caught in a game of cat and mouse with a mysterious armed killer. (tw: emetophobia)

About ten minutes ago, I had woken up on the floor in the middle of a dim room. There had been a man standing over me, wielding a crossbow, guns, and knives, and dressed in what seemed to be some sort of black military gear. Only his silhouette had been visible. I could barely move when I had woken up--I had been drugged--and even now my muscles were still vaguely stiff. I was in ghost form, I was Phantom, but I had none of my powers... Something that the man had told me, but I hadn't believed until I tested it out. I couldn't go intangible, fly, or anything else. 

"Welcome to my little game, Danny Phantom," the man had said when I had woken up. "You may not remember me capturing you, but you have just the last little bit of a paralytic agent running through your system. You should be able to move in just a few minutes... And then we'll be able to begin." 

At that point I hadn't quite been able to push myself up, but my voice had been usable. I had tried not to give away how afraid I was, "What the fuck? In what kind of game do you kidnap and drug someone?!"

Though it had been too dark for me to see his face when he had crouched down, the horrible grin had been clear in the man's gruff and deep voice. "The kind of game where I prove that I can catch you again and again and again. The kind of game where I take a superhero such as yourself, and make you powerless. All for fun, of course." For fun? A shudder had gone through me at that. I was so used to fighting ghosts with obsessions as their motives (status, revenge, order, etc.), rather than unpredictable humans, that it had genuinely thrown me of guard to be told that I was about to be hunted purely for fun. 

When the man was through with his introduction, he simply walked out of the room. I had noted with discomfort that his footfalls had made hardly any noise, if any at all... This meant that my chances of finding or noticing him before he found me were very slim. 

It had only been a few minutes after the man's disappearance before I was able to move well enough to stand. I had staggered to my feet and tried to fly, only to find out that my powers were gone. There had been only one doorway out of that room so I had run, escape being my only priority.

Right now, I had my back to a corner wall, doing everything I could to blend in to the continuous dimness. It was a bittersweet thing, but I was thankful that my missing powers meant I no longer had a glowing aura. I was backed up into a small alcove right now and ahead of me was a ledge and a staircase. The room I had been earlier had opened up into a tower of sorts, with sidewalk-width ledges and stairways downwards--the ledges had no railings and from one side to the other there was about a ten foot gap. 

Though I couldn't be sure if it was the man, I had heard a thud a few moments ago from a few ledges up--that was why I was hiding now, rather than running. I strained my eyes in the almost-darkness, trying to discern the nature of the shadows surrounding me. It hadn't sounded like the man had intentions of killing me, but I still didn't want to be caught again. If I could just get back my power to fly, and get somewhere where I could see, I'd have enough of a chance to get the hell out of here. And the sad fact was, I didn't remember how this man caught me in the first place. And, for all I knew, this could be my tenth time going through his little "game" of cat and mouse. All I could remember was leaving school right before lunch to fight a ghost, then waking up here... I didn't even know if I was still in Amity Park. 

There was another thud from above, closer now, and I shied back even further into the alcove. I had no idea what this man was capable of--though he had captured me at least once already, I had no idea of how much of a fight I put up before going down--and it scared me so much. Especially since I was so powerless now...

The third thud was from the ledge above me, and I couldn't restrain the gasp of fright at the suddenness of it. Had he heard me? Had I just given myself away? I clamped a hand over my mouth, in an attempt to stifle any future noises of fear I might make. 

On the far side of the ledge above the level I was on, I saw a shadow that had to be the man. He was moving slowly, silently, and I watched in pure terror as he stopped, and turned to face me dead on. It was only because I had bolted out of the alcove so quickly that the arrow from his crossbow had missed me--I had heard the p-taff of the arrow being shot then the shunk of it lodging itself in the wall, right where I had been. Not stopping for a moment, not even for time to think, I threw myself over the ledge, relying solely on momentum and gravity to carry me to the walkway that was ten feet across and ten feet down. 

I caught the cement edge with both hands, my body swinging forward and my shoulders threatening to dislocate. I heard a chuckle echo from above and I shuddered, trying to pull myself up. Before I could do more than lift myself a little, I heard a rattle from above, and then the man shot another bolt from his crossbow. This one went right into my left shoulder, and with the momentum I was shoved down. I couldn't help but let out a short cry at the pain and shock. The sudden pain and force made my left hand slip, and I was soon hanging by only my right hand. The next ledge on this side was twenty feet down. The man was twenty feet above me if he hadn't moved yet. 

The only thing I could do in my position--held up by only one slipping hand--was to let myself fall. I swung forward slightly so that I would land on the ledge below. I had to make sure I would roll with the landing, but there wasn't room to roll forward, so I had to land carefully on my feet. These calculations crossed my mind in the moment it took to swing and then let go. Falling was not a sensation I enjoyed, and the shock of pain that came with landing brought a yelp to my lips that I couldn't hold back. I rolled to my right, having landed on the balls of my feet. It was somewhat disorienting, but the adrenaline and fear kept me centered. As soon as I stood, the pain in my feet and ankles began to fade--nothing seemed to actually be injured. With a grunt, I pulled the arrow from my shoulder, finding that the point was actually a "U" shaped prong, with the two points at the end, meaning that it pulled out easily and it didn't go very deep. I noted that the bolt was also painted with a fluorescent blue--I could easily see the color in the darkness. I didn't have time to ponder the meaning of the arrow's characteristics, so I tossed it aside and took off in a run to the nearest downwards flight of stairs. 

From above I heard the boom of the man's voice, "You can run, Phantom, but you can't hide!" 

When I got to the bottom of the tower--another five flights--I was starting to feel vaguely lightheaded. I wrote it off as the adrenaline and looked around desperately for a way out. Across from the stairway there was another doorway. I ran to it, finding that the door opened and shut silently. I breathed a soundless sigh of relief that it hadn't creaked or groaned, that it hadn't given away my position. On the other side of the quiet door was a very large room with roughly twenty foot ceilings and fifteen foot walls--it was just as dark as the tower. It was a maze, and ahead of me I had three directions to choose from: left, right, and straight on. I went right, hoping to at least get a good ways in before the man entered the room. I noted dimly--my thoughts were getting progressively hazy--that I would not hear the man enter due to the quiet door. 

By the time that I realized that the wound in my shoulder hadn't stopped bleeding, and was leaving a trail of green behind me, I was already at least five minutes in to the maze. I was dizzy and weak now, and I had to keep a hand on the wall to keep my balance. My legs were shaking and felt like they were about to buckle. Sweat was beading at my forehead and I felt horribly nauseas. It took until I was fully leaning on the wall, taking slow and shaky steps, for me to realize that that weird blue arrow had been poisoned. I was surely going to be captured, there was no doubt in my foggy mind. The realization made my already churning stomach clench in fear.

I did have to stop at one point, bending to puke and retch. It was noisy and made me feel worse, and the most I could do was try not to step in it when I kept going. Only about ten feet later I collapsed to my hands and knees. I crawled for another few feet, only to find that the next turn was a dead end. My ears were ringing and I was so confused by the dead end in front of me. I didn't have the capacity to even think to turn back, and certainly not the physical strength left to keep going. All I managed was to scoot around the corner into the darkness of the dead end before having to lay down completely. The last thing I remembered was the man's voice coming quietly from above.

"I win this round. Not that you ever stood a chance, of course..."

. . .

I woke up feeling vaguely shaky. The arrow mark in my shoulder was smoldering with pain, but it was dull enough to ignore. Like before, my muscles felt like they were asleep. I told them to move but they could only manage twitches. 

When the man spoke, it was from several feet away, "Thirteen minutes and twenty two seconds. That's how long it took for you to pass out from my blue arrow. The longest it's ever taken anyone was fourteen minutes and two seconds. Some lost consciousness after only seven minutes and fifty eight seconds. The average is ten minutes. If I were you, I'd call that endurance a victory. But of course, the only real victory here is my capture of you. Again. This round was quite fun." 

I didn't trust my voice not to tremble, or even work at all, so I said nothing. Instead, I glared in the direction of the man's voice. He seemed to take my silence as a cue to leave.

Before he left through the doorway, however, he paused, "Oh and by the way." I could hear the dark amusement in his voice, "I've set out an extra crossbow and a few bolts for you. Use them wisely... If you can find them before I catch you, of course." The man laughed, then was gone.


	4. #14 pt1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I didn’t know what had hit me. Well, that’s actually a lie. I knew what had hit me. It was the ice that I had slipped on. And gravity...I can definitely scratch learning how to ice skate alone and as Phantom off my list of things to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldnt find the image that inspired this fic, but thats okay.   
> So far, there's about three parts to this. Each is longer than the last.

I didn’t know what had hit me. Well, that’s actually a lie. I knew what had hit me. It was the ice that I had slipped on. And gravity. If you’re not catching my drift, I slipped, fell, and hit my head. Which apparently not only resulted in me blacking out, but also changing back, which was unusual these days. 

So I was just laying on the ice of some frozen pond out in the woods near my house. My head was throbbing and moving even a fraction was enough to send pain screeching through my skull. It was safe to assume that the ice below my head was cracked, and that that small warmth I could feel there was blood. Great. I can definitely scratch learning how to ice skate alone and as Phantom off my list of things to do. 

It took a little while to realize exactly how cold I was, lying out on the ice. My lone jacket wasn’t nearly enough to protect me from the elements, and my hands felt somewhere between tingly and numb. I needed to get home. 

With a deep and shuddering breath--my head fucking hurt--I mustered my concentration and transformed back into Phantom. The burn of the cold instantly became less prominent, and I was able to think a bit more clearly. Bracing myself, I lifted up from the ground. As I turned vertical, I had to grit my teeth against the swirl of vertigo; I mentally said a brief word of thanks for the fact that I couldn’t throw up as a ghost. 

With morbid curiosity, I looked down at the ice where I had previously lay prone. Sure enough, there was a distinct crack, surrounded by a substantial puddle of blood and ectoplasm. I shuddered. 

I took my time flying home, making a point to keep low and alert. I was glad to know that my parents were out of town when I drifted into my room. With great longing, I looked at my bed but resisted passing out just yet. I needed to at least get some bandages around my head first. And in this case, that meant asking Jazz for help. 

I drifted through the wall into the hallway, then towards my sister’s door. I knocked gently, waiting for her reply before phasing through. With forced mirth I asked, “So, you wanna help patch me up?”

It wasn’t until I was bandaged up and settled in bed that I realized that the frozen pond I had woken up on was not the one I had been attempting to ice skate on.


	5. #14 pt2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oddly enough, my knuckles were raw and bloody, as if I had pummeled someone or something with my fists. More than my other injuries, that really scared me. What had I done?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's part two!

A week and a half after concussing myself out on the ice, I found myself in almost a similar situation. Only this time, I couldn’t remember hitting my head… or anything even remotely related to whatever resulted in me being where I was right now. 

To be specific, I was draped like a carelessly thrown doll over what appeared to be and felt like various items of trash and discarded building supplies. The majority of my body hurt, and I was laying in such a way that my view of my surroundings was upside-down. It seemed that I was in some dingy alleyway. 

With the way I was laying, it would’ve been hard to sit up, so I urged my body to slide off of the trash heap and onto the ground. Doing so hurt, a lot, and I still couldn’t remember even a hint as to what had put me here. All I remember before waking up just moments ago was walking to Sam’s house… and judging by the dim light in the alleyway and the dusky color of the sky above me, I had just lost at least two hours. Holy fuck. 

With difficulty, I pulled myself into a sitting position, only to find that it not only felt like I had been punched repeatedly in the gut, but also that I was Phantom. I couldn’t remember transforming. Perplexed and more than a little bit scared, I did a mental run-through to get an idea of how badly hurt I was. 

I didn’t need to prod at the bruise to know that I had taken a punch to the jaw; my lip was split and the ectoplasm was drying. Both the bones in my left forearm were broken; my arm was bent at such an angle that one of the splintered bones had ruptured through my skin. The clean white stained with ectoplasm made me shiver. Without delay, I reset the two bones with intangibility before bracing my arm with a thin cast of ice. Thankfully, my ribs had survived without more than bruising, despite the obvious beating they had taken. There was a slice at my temple that ached but had stopped bleeding. And oddly enough, my knuckles were raw and bloody, as if I had pummeled someone or something with my fists. More than my other injuries, that really scared me. What had I done?

I lifted off the ground and surveyed the area around me. There was nothing here to suggest what may have happened to me, which only served to frighten and puzzle me further. Hesitantly, I turned invisible and rose upwards out of the alley. I needed to get my bearings. 

If I had been Fenton at the time, my heart surely would’ve stopped dead for a moment when I realized where I was. I was on the far side of Elmerton, the town closest to Amity Park. Why here? How? When? I was glad that breathing wasn’t a thing as Phantom, because I probably would’ve started hyperventilating. 

Eventually, and well after nightfall, I made it to Sam’s house. I knocked on the window and waited just long enough to be let in before helping myself to collapsing on my best friend’s bed. She took good care of me, and helped ease my worries about what had happened. 

“It was probably just a one time thing,” she had said. 

“Probably.”


	6. #14 pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "With a gasp, I came back to myself, wide-eyed, standing in a bathroom stall. There was a sharp pain in my arm... The seat was spattered with drops of blood, and the water in the toilet bowl was more than pink."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be Warned!! there is a lot of graphic self harm aftermath in this chapter. panic attacks too! please be careful, dear readers.

The incident in the alley had been on Monday, but it felt a lifetime away come Friday. The week had been filled with tests and projects and general few-weeks-into-the-semester shenanigans, and I had almost been able to put that whole event behind me. Almost. 

I had been switching out my books at my locker between classes, away from my friends for one of the few times during the school day. I remembered loading my math book into my backpack and then… well, I don’t really know what happened after that. And judging by the fact that I was still alone, most likely no one else knew either. 

With a gasp, I came back to myself, wide-eyed, standing in a bathroom stall. There was a sharp pain in my arm, and I had a moment of severe dissociation when I looked down at my hands. It was like looking down at my character in a video game--it was me, but it didn’t feel quite right. The bloody shard of mirror clutched in my left hand didn’t seem like it was in my own hand, even though I could feel the sharp edges biting into my palm. I looked pale and stricken in the glinting reflection, like I hadn’t slept or seen the light of day in months. I couldn’t quite make the connection between my two limbs as I shifted my gaze to the long slice down the length of my inner right forearm. My skin was drenched in red, and I apparently had simply been standing and letting the blood pour and drip into the toilet. The seat was spattered with drops of blood, and the water in the toilet bowl was more than pink. 

I nearly screamed and staggered back, falling into the closed stall door and dropping the shard of glass. It shattered when it hit the floor, but I didn’t hear it. I was too occupied by the rush of panic and the desperate attempts at stemming the flow of blood from the at least five inch long and much too deep slice in my arm. In a moment of semi-clarity, I reached for the toilet paper and just kept pulling, pressing handfuls upon handfuls onto my arm. My breath came in wheezing gasps as I fought to keep tense the grip of my shaking hands. 

It took a little while, but after a few minutes I was able to garner the wherewithal to use my ice powers as Fenton. I braced my forearm in a sleeve of ice over the toilet paper bandaging, forcing whatever blood I had left in me to stay inside me. 

Blood was everywhere. I didn’t know how I got here, or what bathroom I was in. Was it even a men’s room? My backpack was gone. My phone was in my left pocket instead of my right. The knuckles of my left hand were sliced and bloody; they sparkled with tiny slivers of broken mirror. My body didn’t feel like it was connected to my mind. Everything felt wrong.

With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone from my left pocket with my left hand; my right hand was numb. I shakily typed out a message to the group chat with Sam and Tucker:

“HELP. IM IN A BATHROOM HELP.”

And it was only a matter of time before they found me. 

The bathroom door creaked open. “Danny?” called Tucker, worry clear in his tone.

“I-I’m in here,” I responded, voice shaky and unusually small.

Two sets of footsteps approached my stall and stopped at the door where I was still leaning. 

“Danny, are you okay?” asked Sam, “Can you come out of there?”

Could they see the blood on the floor? Could they smell it as strongly as I could? Slowly, I straightened up and turned, forcing myself to take slow breaths as I unlocked the stall door and pulled it open. I knew they tried to stifle their gasps of shock, but it didn’t really matter. 

“I-I don’t know wh-what happened. I was at m-my locker and then I was here. B-bleeding,” I stammered. 

Without a word, Sam gently pulled me away from the stall and over to the sinks, where she urged me to lean again. Tucker went to lock the bathroom door. All three of us carried first aid kits in our backpacks for emergencies and Sam pulled out hers before scrubbing her hands in the sink. As I watched her do so, I noticed that one of the mirrors was broken; a large shard was missing and there were drops of blood among the fallen slivers. 

She got to work opening up the needed supplies from the kit as Tucker stepped closer to me. I knew the fear in his eyes was only a reflected fraction of what shone in mine. Despite that though, his words were reassuring, “We’ll figure out what happened later, man. Right now we just need to get you put back into one piece.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak further. I was still shaking horribly. A moment later, Sam motioned for me to remove the ice brace on my arm. With only a few ounces of concentration, I shattered the ice and let it fall to the floor where it began to dissolve into mist, leaving no trace behind. 

I bit my bottom lip and held my breath as Sam peeled away the wads of stained and saturated toilet paper, only to recover the reopened wound with a thick layering of paper towels. She raised my arm so that my bicep was parallel to the floor and my forearm was not only vertical but also higher than the level of my heart. “That’ll help slow the bleeding,” was her explanation. 

“Tucker, get me two feet of wet paper towels,” ordered Sam, and in only moments she was handed the item of her request. 

“Put your hand here and press,” she told me, switching her smaller hand with mine on the compress. Gently, she used the wet paper towels to clean the smudged, drying blood from my arm, before scrubbing away with an alcohol wipe what water alone couldn’t remove. She used said alcohol wipe also for the precarious task of removing the blood closest to the open wound; she managed to get almost all of it without getting alcohol in the slice. 

Next came the hard part. I already knew that this wound ideally needed stitches, but neither of us had the knowledge or supplies to do that. The second best option was medical tape, which we had plenty of. Tucker was already prepared with strips of the stuff when the time came, and Sam continued her ministrations without a word. She began at my wrist, slowly peeling away the paper towels inch by inch, and inch by inch, placing a long strip of tape across the wound, forcing it shut. Four more strips of tape later, she began to press folded pads of gauze over the slice, securing them with more tape. Then, she wrapped my whole forearm in cotton bandaging and taped that up too. When it was done, we all seemed to let out the collective breath we had been holding. I was finally starting to calm down. 

Sam cleaned and bandaged my sliced knuckles--I used intangibility to remove the slivers of mirror that had been lodged in the wound--while Tucker pulled out the water bottle from his backpack. “Here, drink this.”

Gratefully, I took the offered water and downed almost half the bottle, not even regretting the sudden stomach pain it caused from drinking too fast. My body was still shaky to the core, but no longer being covered in blood helped ease my nerves. That, and having my friends nearby. Having them here helped a lot. 

“Can we go sit somewhere quiet?” I asked, despite not needing to. At this point, I could’ve just said we would go sit somewhere, but I was feeling very small. I needed their explicit affirmation and support. And they knew that.

“Of course, Danny. Whatever you need,” urged Sam.

Tucker added, “Yeah, man. We’re here for you.”

As we walked down the hallway, I noticed that no one else was around, and it was quiet. That realization renewed the fear in me and I felt myself begin to shake again. “What time is it…?” I asked, part of me not really wanting to know. How much time had I lost?

Tucker looked at his watch, “It’s 1:53. It was about 1:30 when you texted us.”

I let out a rush of breath, “Oh thank god. The last thing I remember was the last passing period. I only lost about fifteen minutes.”

Sam put her hand on my shoulder in reassurance as we made our way out of the building. 

The park wasn’t very far from school, only a block or so, and we made our way to our usual bench under a tree. It was cloudy, and I was sure it would start to snow by dusk. I honestly didn’t mind the cold, though, because it grounded me, and made me feel a little less like I was coming apart at the seams. Tucker offered me his jacket but I declined it without a second thought. 

The two-day-old snow crunched under our shoes as we stepped over to the bench under the tree. Sam and Tucker sat on either side of me, shoulders touching, and for a moment I almost felt like it was just any other day, like I hadn’t sliced open my own arm and watched it bleed. 

“So… what’s the last thing you remember before the bathroom?” Sam asked, breaking the calm quiet of the snow and the distant noises from the street. 

“It was passing period and I was at my locker, putting my math book in my backpack so I wouldn’t forget to take it home… And then I just… I-I just came to? In the bathroom stall? I had a s-shard of mirror in my left hand. And I was just letting myself bleed? I-I went to text you guys and my phone was in my left pocket. And my backpack is gone I don’t know where it is or what happened oh god ohgod ohgodohgodohgod--”

Sam put her hand on my thigh, squeezing it reassuringly, “Hey, take a deep breath. You’re okay now.” 

I closed my eyes tightly and nodded harshly, trying to block out the mental image of seeing what I had done to myself. I leaned forward a bit, curling into myself; without realizing it, I began rocking back and forth. All I could think about was the blood and the pain and the look of death on my face in that broken piece of mirror. I hardly even registered Tucker’s arm wrapping around me tightly, and Sam gripping my hand. My chest felt constricted and I was breathing harshly. Oh god why won’t this stop why did I do this what’s wrong with me why am I--

“Danny, look at me,” Sam said sternly. She was kneeling in front of me now, hands on my cheeks and staring right up into my face. Once she had my attention, she put my hand on her chest, “Focus on my breathing, try to keep the same pace, okay?” I nodded sharply again, closing my eyes and doing everything I could to keep the entirety of my focus on the slow, steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest. Matching my breathing with hers felt like I was suffocating, but Tucker’s spoken reassurances helped me keep going. 

Slowly. So, so slowly, I began to calm down. My breath was only coming a little quicker than normal when Sam returned to sitting beside me. 

After a while of sitting in silence, Tucker said, “Let’s get you home, man. You should rest.” I nodded in consent, leaning on him heavily when we both stood from the bench. 

We began walking from the park when I stopped, ankle-deep in old snow. Flurries were starting to fall. “My backpack,” I blanched, fighting the wash of dread brought on by my empty memory. 

Sam shared a glance with Tucker, who nodded. “I’ll go find it,” she said. “I’ll text you when I have it.”

“See you then,” and then to me, “C’mon man, the last thing you need now is hypothermia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have of this particular story so far. Does anyone want more? This is one of my favorites.


End file.
